Five Times Kissed
by Hurricane Amy
Summary: Drabble prompt: five times Amelia and Mark kissed. Not really ship-based but could be taken that way if that's your thing. Just intended to be sweet snippets of their relationship throughout the years as they grew up.


**A/N:** Based on a drabble prompt (literally, "five times Mark and Amy kissed"). Not really ship-based, but I suppose it could be taken that way, if you want. Mostly just snippets of their relationship. I hope you like it!

* * *

**THE FIRST TIME** she remembers kissing Mark, she's five years old (almost six; her birthday _is_ only two and a half months away, and she's not going to let anyone forget it). She's been trying to be strong and brave, but she's just a child, and she can't help it. She misses her daddy. He's sleeping over at their place again, and she's thankful that he's the one who finds her curled up on her bed, clutching at her old toy rabbit with tears streaming down her cheeks. From the way her thumb has been jammed in her mouth, she may as well be a toddler again, but he doesn't comment on that. He doesn't ask because he knows what's wrong, and he takes his place on the bed next to her, wrapping his arms around her tiny, shivering body.

"I had a nightmare," she whispers.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offers, but she shakes her head furiously.

"Tell me a story?"

And he does. It's not particularly exciting or clever — although somewhere in there is a princess and a knight who rides a unicorn — but it does the trick. Maybe it's just having someone there with her, or maybe it's the soothing sound of his voice, but eventually Amy begins to relax, her fists loosening and tears beginning to dry. Eyelids fall heavy, but she's not ready to sleep just yet.

"Please don't tell," she whispers, voice barely above a breath. She doesn't want anyone to think she's a baby, and she knows her mom already worries too much.

"I won't."

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise."

Their littlest fingers lock together, hers dwarfed by his, and for the first time, a hint of a smile passes across her lips. Wide eyes look up at him as if he is the very knight in his story and she climbs to her knees, looping her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

She wants to tell him she loves him, but she doesn't.

* * *

**THE SECOND TIME** the tables are turned, and though he isn't crying, it's obvious to the nine year old that the teenage boy has had his heart broken. He's sitting in silence on the porch swing in their backyard, and he looks majorly bummed out. It's the same look her sisters get after a break-up, so she assumes that's the case. It's strange, she thinks, since he's usually the one doing the breaking. Every week he seemed to have a new girl — at least from her perspective — and Derek was always chuckling and calling him a 'player' (whatever that meant). But he looks sad, and she takes a seat next to him.

"She's not good enough for you, anyway," Amelia announces, though they both know she has no real basis for this position.

He snorts in response, offering a half-hearted smile. "Hey, who says I'm upset over a girl?" he asks with feigned indignance.

"Puh-lease. It's _so_ obvious, dude. Some chick broke your heart or whatever and now you're out here pouting." She swings her legs, challenging him with a single raised eyebrow — a trick she learned from Lizzie. He doesn't concede, but he doesn't disagree, either, so she continues. "You know, whenever Nancy or Kath get their hearts broken, they eat, like, a jillion tons of ice cream. Do you want me to get you some rocky road? There's _nothing_ rocky road can't fix."

He considers her offer, and he knows it probably won't help, but he figures it wouldn't really hurt, either, so he nods.

Dutifully, Amelia hops to her feet, but she pauses first, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm serious, 'kay? You're the bomb, and if she doesn't see that, she's super lame." She shrugs and leans over to give his cheek a peck before skipping inside.

* * *

**THE THIRD TIME** Amy kisses Mark, she is thirteen years old. A girl in her class, Jessie, has been bragging about her first kiss with her boyfriend, and the attention she's getting makes the youngest Shepherd jealous. She wonders what it would be like to kiss a boy for real, but everyone in her class— Well, they're gross and immature. All they ever do is make dick jokes.

Mark is her target for three very simple reasons: (1) He is always around. He is always there for her. (2) Whenever she sees him lately, this strange butterfly sensation seems to fly around in her gut. It's weird, but she kind of likes it. Maybe she likes him. (3) She has seen him kiss at least two of her sisters before, which makes her angry and envious, and she decides it is her turn.

So when she gets home from school, she throws her backpack against the wall, peeking around into the living room. Derek is off with Addison to 'study,' but Mark has still made his home of their couch. Shaking out her shoulders, the teenager struts toward him in an awkward kind of attempt at flirting — a skill she wouldn't perfect for years to come. He gives her a confused expression in return, but she is hardly deterred.

Without a word, she bends down in front of him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and pressing their lips together. She thinks maybe there's supposed to be more to it, but she doesn't really know, and anyway, he's jumping up and back before she can figure out what this 'tongue' thing everyone talks about entails. She stumbles backwards, a sudden flush taking over her cheeks, but she's smiling, even if he's not. He looks like he's going to yell or lecture her, but can't quite find the words.

"Don't tell," she whispers, winking as she pushes past him to go back to her room.

They don't mention it again.

* * *

**THE FOURTH TIME** she remembers a kiss, Amelia is sick. Her nineteen year-old body is frail and weak. She's just _died_ after all, and though they brought her back, it changes a girl. She's back to the scared child who bore witness to her own father's murder, and an eery part of her can't help wondering if his death was as painful as hers — if he had moments gasping for life the way she did on the stretcher. Her only solace comes in knowing the bullet pierced his brain too quickly for much active thought. He probably didn't suffer.

But she's terrified for her life. She doesn't want to die again, but she knows now that means getting clean, and she thinks nothing can be more terrifying than a life without the cushion of drugs to fall back upon. She's sweaty and shivering and sick and withdrawal seems to give her new kinds of torture with every passing hour.

He finds her curled in on herself, a shell of her once-vibrant self, and the grimace he wears says just how much it hurts him to see her like this. Cerulean eyes crack open just enough to know he's there, but the strength of the fluorescent lighting gives her a headache, so they quickly shut again. She supposes she shouldn't be surprised he's come, but a part of her can't help it. They haven't been close for awhile (she's had a bit of a penchant for pushing people away) and the only other visitors she's had have been Addison, Lizzie, and her mother. No one else can bear to look at her — especially Derek. She hasn't even been able to thank him for saving her life.

A warm hand takes hers and she gives a weak squeeze to acknowledge his presence, even if she can't bear to look up at him. She might cry, if she weren't so numb. He's talking to her. He's telling her how reckless she's been — how much she's hurt everyone. She knows. He's saying how worried he was and that when Derek told him she was in the hospital, he almost lost it. He was there when she flat-lined. The three of them watched through the glass as she slipped from life. He says his heart almost shattered, but her brother had just shut down entirely. He says he's glad she's alive and begs her not to do it again.

He pushes a string of hair from her face, his hand resting a moment in its place. It fills her with momentary comfort. And then it moves, replaced with soft lips against her temple. He wants to tell her he loves her, and she wants the same, but neither speak, and he's gone before he knows for sure whether she's heard a word he said.

* * *

**THE FIFTH TIME** they kiss, everything has changed. She's a grown-up now. Neither is in pain; neither is dying. This isn't a silly childhood game, and it's not some long-held desire. It's been a long time since they've seen each other — years since they've spent more than five minutes in the other's company. A lot has happened in that time. She doesn't go by Amy any more; she's Amelia, through and through. She's a surgeon now, just like Derek, and she's confident without any kind of substance to fuel her actions. So she smirks and tells him it's okay if he thinks she's hot and he admits to himself that he really does. She's not a kid anymore.

It sort of happens as a blur. She's made up with Derek and she's not going back to L.A. until the next day. He finds her on the stool of the bar at Joe's, nursing a vodka and tonic. She's not drunk, but she could be on her way. For a brief moment, he worries, but she seems okay. She seems better than okay. So instead, they talk. They catch up. They laugh. He doesn't say it, but he's proud of how far she's come.

They're not entirely sure how they begin to kiss. There is no staring or unbreakable eye contact. There are no _moves_ and neither is flirting more than their natural personas would have them on instinct. It isn't something from a romantic comedy or some cheesy chick flick. It just happens that their lips meet and now they're kissing — and this time, Amelia knows what the tongue thing is. It's easy and natural, and they both know in the morning, they'll part without a second thought.

So the last time, she pecks him on the cheek and thanks him for a good time before skipping off to make her flight. She waves from the doorway of his apartment with a cheesy grin plastered to reddened lips.

She has no idea it's the last time she would ever see him again, so she doesn't tell him she loves him.


End file.
